The Perils of Dancing Princesses
by Les-Cerises
Summary: Set directly after the movie. Can Jake ever gain his brother's aproval? Can they save their skins and their reputations? Warning slash, incest. Rating uppage in the future. Fourth chapter up!
1. Chapter 1

Please note that I do not own rights to any of the characters, stories referenced, or anything to do with the movie _The Brothers Grimm_ and humbly beg that you do not sue me for my dinette and television.

Rated Teen at the moment; rating _will_ change with future chapters. Beware! Talk of incest and homosexual urges! Picking up where the movie left off.

_The Perils of Dancing Princesses – or, a Most Humble Sequel_

_Chapter One – In Which Jake is Lost_

"_Not. You."_

Well.

Those words were causing problems for Jacob Grimm, and he just didn't know what to think. It was true that, ever since he was a boy, he had lived in his own little world, focusing on some things and ignoring others. It was also true that he obsessed over little things, and made much of what (to others) were small details. These two small words were now the victims of Jake's obsessive mind.

He had time to think, now, time to breathe, after the celebration. In fact, he had left a bit early – slipped away to sit on top of a sunny barn, close to the tree line. The sun was setting warmly, just brushing the tops of the tallest trees. Everyone else was still celebrating the defeat of the queen, the French, and the return of their daughters.

Overjoyed as he was that his brother was alive, and as happy as he had been to hear him speak, he could not shake his slightly dour mood. Why, though, was the question. Was it Will's pursuit of Angelika? Was it the fact that he asked for her when he was revived? The fact that he wanted a kiss from her?

That he didn't want a kiss from Jake?

Sounds of disgust escaped him, and his hands came up to grip his hair. His glasses hung precariously at the end of his nose.

_"Not. You."_

Ass.

Stupid, doubting, faithless, slobbering idiot of an ass.

In spite of it all, Jake nearly vomited as he recalled the feel of his knife sliding into Will's chest. He could still see it, amplified by his fear. Will, near death, crawling to the skeletal queen; Will, under her thrall, hurling out the window; Will, lying still among the leaves like a beautiful sleeping prince. Will, breathing, alive.

Jake supposed he should be happy with that. Usually, when people's prayers were answered in tales and in books, they were content. Instead, all Jake wanted to do was put a foot up his own ass for being such an unerring prat. Here he was, on top of a dusty barn, while his brother was chasing around the woman he might, possibly, have been happy with. He might have had children. He might have had a normal life – or as normal as it could get with a huntress as a wife. He might have forgotten this obsession with getting Will's attention and approval. Maybe, he would have completely forgotten his brother, and been able to live a healthy and decent life.

"It never has been me, has it, Will?"

The ladder to his right creaked in answer, and Jake started upright, scrabbling to stay on the slippery roof. Straw thatching came out in clumps as he struggled to gain a hold. His right foot went off the edge, his shin hitting the wooden beam painfully, just as both hands lost any semblance of purchase. He slid six inches before a powerful hand slammed down on top of his own, halting his descent.

The most beautiful thing that Jake had ever seen was, at that moment, the thatch two inches from his face.

And then, there was Will, foot hooked through a hole in the thatching, stretched out with a look of panic on his face, knuckles white where his hand grasped Jake's.

"Good God, Jake! Is it so hard to stay on a damned roof?"

For the second time, Jake's hand hurt because of a poorly angled punch; now, however, he held back his exclamations of pain, and was half way down the ladder before Will recovered enough to call after him.

- o _- _

"What is this about, Jake? Jake!"

Jake, who was at the moment focused on not smacking into branches, huffed in irritation. "I believe I'm not speaking to you at the moment, brother. Therefore, would you please refrain from speaking to me!"

"No! Augh, Come back here, you idiot!"

Jake whirled. They were deep in the old part of the woods, Jake thinking he could escape there, and Will pursuing him. The village was long out of sight, the sun mostly down; the eastern sky, or what could be seen of it, was turning a dark blue. None of this had deterred Jake from marching forward, however, in a blind determination to be away from his brother. "Why?" he demanded, spreading his palms. "Why should I listen to you anymore, Will?"

Will was aghast. "What do you mean? You know you can't take care of yourself, Jake! Beans, brother, remember?"

"I will always remember!" Jake took a step forward, his tone wild. "This is not beans! I am not seven! You are not my caretaker, Will, or have you forgotten? Have you forgotten that we are supposed to be partners? Equals? Or, or, maybe, since you're still so damn immature, you think that I am too!" He stomped off again, his boots viciously subjugating twigs and bramble.

"Is this about Angelika?" Will called out, following after his brother, having a hard time keeping pace. "Is this about the kiss?"

"Maybe it is!" Jake called out, not slowing his pace.

"She's all yours, Jake! I was just having a bit of fun! She's not even my type! Come on, slow up! Let's go back."

Jake paused, breathing heavily, hands braced on his thighs. "This is pointless."

"So it is, Jake, and I'm glad-"

"I'm still angry."

"About what? What did I _do_?"

Jake threw up his hands and walked past him, in the direction they had come.

"I refuse to follow you like a jilted lover, wandering through woods that we have already established _move_. Do you even know where you are going?"

Jake stopped short, looked around, and realized that they had not come across the stream in front of him before.

He took a deep breath in, and readjusted his spectacles. He put his hands on his hips, looked around, and sighed.

"No. I don't think I do."


	2. In which Jake Is Found

Oh, My, God. I did not expect such a great response, you guys! Everyone who reviewed, thank you so much! Certain … inconsistencies have been fixed in Chapter One, and scenery descriptions upped a bit. Thank you especially to OnomatopoeiaMan and MagRowan. And yes, several stories will be incorporated – including the Twelve Dancing Princesses and King Grisly Beard. Just a few that got left out of the movie. Please, keep talking: I live for reviews. Update rate estimated at one chapter per week, if my schedule does not kill me dead.

Same disclaimer. I own nothing better than what you might find at a garage sale, so please do not sue.

_The Perils of Dancing Princesses- or, a Most Humble Sequel_

_Chapter Two- In Which, Perhaps, Jake Wishes He Had Not Been Found_

Jake was lost.

Oh, God, and Saint Francis above, was he lost.

"Are we lost?"

He was lost, in the woods, at night, staring at a creek that shouldn't be there. There could be wolves, or really big spiders -

"We're lost, aren't we, Jake?"

- At least the trees had stopped moving. Hadn't they? -

"Ah, God in Heaven, he's lost us _again_!"

- Maybe there was some vine, with magic still in it, which would string up his brother by the ankle. There was a fine idea.

Will found a handy boulder, still being wary of trees, and sat on it. "That's it, Jake, it's your turn to lick the frog."

"She's a toad, Will. And besides! I didn't ask you to come. In fact, I remember specifically telling you not to. You could be very comfortably ensconced at the village inn right now, some girl with dainty ankles sitting on your knee." Jake grimaced. As Will opened his mouth to protest, Jake pushed forward. "You followed me. You made me lose us. Therefore, it is your fault, not mine, that we are lost."

"So you admit we're lost!"

"Can we please stop saying that word!"

And so, thus chastened, Will sat in silence on his boulder, watching his brother pace in the space the dense forest would allow. They were in a little ravine of sorts, a short cliff wall at his back and a creek in front. The light was almost gone, twilight filtering down through the ancient trees, barely illuminating the scruffy bushes and rocky underbrush.

Jake, for his part, was efficiently wearing a track in the moss at his feet. Nervously readjusting his glasses, he took stock of their situation. They were off course in the forest, a good distance from the town. _You're disgusting…. _They had no supplies - no food, no flint, no blankets. _He'll never want you…. _They had no guide. They had to find Grandmother Toad, but he had no idea how to go about that. _Look at him. How could you think he would want you?... _If only Angelika-

"Jake? What's on your mind?

Startled, Jake's expression resembled that of a nervous deer. "What?"

Will smiled indulgently, and ran a hand through his hair. "What's been on your mind recently, brother? You seem even more bewildered than usual."

The younger Grimm, naturally, didn't know whether to be touched or angry with his brother. For a moment, he simply stood there and stared, perplexed. When Will grinned again, he realized what a picture he must make – clothes out of place, thatching in his tunic, and spectacles about to fall off his nose. Hurriedly, he pushed his spectacles into place and tugged at his sleeves.

"Just … you're an idiot, you know?"

Will's face fell. "You won't tell me what I did. I can't read your mind, Jake, so how can I fix it? What ever I did …" he cleared his throat, and looked at everything but Jake. "I thought things were going well for us, finally. Was I wrong?"

Staring, yet again, Jake felt his anger at his brother wane, and a heavy sorrow take its place. He went and sat down beside his brother, his thick, idiot of a brother, who really hadn't done anything wrong, except to remain oblivious. He huffed a bit, and turned to look at Will.

Who was, in turn, looking at him, silently asking forgiveness for being dense.

"It's alright, Will. I'm fine, it's just the excitement – or something…." Mumbling the last part, he stared at his feet. Unexpectedly, he felt Will's hand underneath his chin, gently drawing Jake's face up to meet his. The look in Will's eyes was startling in its intensity.

"I may be an idiot sometimes, Jake, but you've never been able to lie to me. Something has been bothering you."

_If only he were never like this_, Jake thought, _I wouldn't have to be under his thrall. And yet, if only he were always like this._

The _pop_! of a branch breaking behind them caused both brothers to jump, Jake all the way to his feet and some distance away.

"Excuse me, sirs? Are ye lost? It's a frightful place to wander about after dark, young sirs." The voice was uncultured, belonging to an older sounding male in a wide brimmed hat and long coat. He was standing some five feet above them on the edge of the short cliff. All other details were obliterated due to the darkness.

"Ah! A savior!" Will smiled at his brother, who was warily standing with his back to the nearest tree. "Sir, we have lost our way in the forest, and we humbly beg your assistance."

As Will climbed up to meet the stranger, Jake groaned into his hand. The Will he knew in private was gone, replaced by Will, Master Conversationalist. He could hear him now, introducing them, throwing in a barb at Jake for his antisocial behavior or something of that nature, sufficiently impressing the man, but being completely gracious and charming at the same time. Will went about procuring lodging the same way he went about procuring women.

"Well, young sir -"

"Call me Will. We're good enough friends for that, aren't we?"

"Ah, yes, of course, Will – ah – I have a little house not far from here. Certainly not what you fine sirs are used to -"

"You might be surprised," Jake griped up from his spot by the tree, where he still stood grumpily.

The man looked down, and then evidently decided to ignore the comment. "- But it does well by me and my wife. You can spend the night there, if you please, and I'll show ye the way back in the mornin'."

"Sir, you are far too kind. I hate to be any sort of burden, but with the situation we've been thrust into…." He left off with a shrug of the shoulders and that trademark grin, which Jake knew – _felt – _was there, even if he couldn't see it.

The younger Grimm heaved himself away from his tree trunk and started around to the sharply sloping incline. Oh, yes. This was going to be quite a night.

- o -

The man, a traveling fiddler, it turned out as he and Will continued to chat, indeed did have a cozy little cabin about a mile from where the two brothers had stalled. The cabin was small, with equally small windows, the shutters open to let in air on this warm night. The glow from them was a welcome sight indeed for the travel worn and exhausted Grimms. Once inside, Jake saw that it was a two-room affair with a half-loft above, a decent hearth, and earthy log-hewn furniture.

"Meta, my wife, see who I have found on the road. Two fine gentlemen, lost in the woods. At this hour!" He chuckled a bit, and turned to the brothers. "My wife, Meta."

Meta sat in front of the hearth in a drab, shapeless brown dress, which did nothing to disguise her beauty. Dark haired, tall, and slender, she looked at odds with everything around her. She turned from poking at the pot hanging from the hook, and silently acknowledged them. She then turned immediately back, and sitting on her little stool, resumed her stirring.

"Ah, my lady, I hope we have not inconvenienced you." Will, faced with a beautiful woman, turned that charm on as high as it would go. "The stew smells delicious, madam, and I hope you will allow my brother and I to partake."

The woman remained silent, and Will stood, unsure in the face of blatant disregard. The fiddler jumped in to cover his wife's lack of response. "Of course, of course! It's a plain meal, as my dear wife isn't much of a cook – but it will honor us to have you eat at our table." Hospitable to a fault, he indicated a bench at the roughly formed table, and instructed his wife to serve the stew.

Dinner passed mostly in silence, broken every few moments by increasingly awkward attempts by Will at conversation. The stew was indeed simple, rabbit with some wild herbs to flavor and flour to thicken it, eaten with wooden spoons and bowls. Meta gathered up the dishes quickly and dumped them in the washtub, spooning a dollop of rough soap and sand in with them.

"Please, let me show you where you both will be sleeping tonight, sir," implored the fiddler, motioning Will to the loft ladder.

"I would be delighted!" Will jumped up, looking relieved to be doing something other than sit in silence. He climbed the ladder after the fiddler, and both disappeared into the loft.

_Fantastic_. Jake slumped over the table, watching the fiddler's wife scrub the dishes, and wondered at her stony personality. _I might as well be in a room alone. Well, not quite. If I was alone, I could at least write._

"You know …"

Startled, Jake focused back on the fiddler's wife. Had she really just spoken?

Meta straightened up and seemed to wipe her brow with the back of her hand. She stood with her back to Jake, facing the hearth and a collection of ceramic pots arranged across the mantle. They looked as if they had broken and been poorly mended.

"You know … I used to be a princess."

The only sound, for some minutes after that, was the muffled voices of the fiddler and Will exchanging compliments upstairs.


	3. In which Jake Is Told the Truth

I seriously love you all. Everyone who reviewed has been so good to me, and I am so totally touched! (Yes, I am a valley girl, still.) _Ana Mei_, my love! You finally read! Yeah, I'm not influenced by shoujo plotlines in the _least_. The wonderful _Onomatopoeiaman_ has offered to be my beta, my editor (who ever thought I'd have an editor?) and help me with this project, so hopefully I won't have to repost different versions as I fix errors.

Yes, I know, get to the sex, yadda yadda – I want to write it too, believe me! Unfortunately, I have to torture the boys just a bit more. I'll give you smut soon enough.

- o -

_The Perils of Dancing Princesses – or, a Most Humble Sequel_

_Chapter Three – In Which Jake Is Told The Truth_

"You know … I used to be a princess."

Meta's back was still turned to Jake as she picked up a pot from the mantle, her handling of it contemptuous. The fire in front of her made the edges of her form glow.

Jake's instinctual reaction to this was, quite obviously, to run. Growing very still, he contemplated avenues of escape; he was, however, hindered by the fact that his brother was still upstairs.

The other part of his brain was, due to his curious nature, rapt. Because of this, Jake found himself uttering a strangled "Really?"

As soon as he had said it, the part of himself that wanted – badly – to run away rounded viciously on his curiosity. _Oh, you idiot!_ His self-preservation screamed. _You don't learn very well, do you? _

Meta turned to him, a strange smile on her face, the small pottery pot still cradled in her hands. Alarmed, Jake leaned a little bit away from her, eyes widening, spectacles about to fall. Nervously, he glanced to the door.

Walking slowly closer over the five feet that separated them, Meta's smile increased in intensity. "Even you, the famous Jacob Grimm, think I'm insane, don't you?" she emphasized his name cruelly. "Here I am, the wife of a fiddler, in a tiny wooden cottage, my finest possessions broken pottery." She slammed the pot down on the wooden table, the glint in her eyes not entirely due to the fire behind her.

Paralyzed by the abrupt change in the woman's behavior, Jake leaned even farther from her intimidating figure. She stood, both hands on the top of the pot, glaring at it. With escape out of the question, Jake was faced with only one choice: Placation.

"I don't think you're insane," he managed feebly. When her gaze jerked to his, still loaded with mad intensity, he almost cringed. "It's … it's quite possible, really."

Meta glowered, drawing up to her full height. "'Quite possible' … hnn. I don't care if you believe me or not, you'll still do as I ask." At this point, she opened the pot in front of her and cautiously reached in. When she withdrew her hand, she was holding a tiny, delicately sculpted gold branch, no longer than the length of his hand.

"This is yours if you do as I ask. My … husband got what he wanted from my family, but I still care for my sisters." She twirled the branch slowly between her fingers, making it glitter in the firelight.

"Your sisters?" Jake repeated eloquently, readjusting his spectacles. He was slowly realizing that this woman, most likely, did not wish him immediate harm.

"I have eleven sisters, Master Grimm, who were not subject to as rough of treatment as I was. I was the prize in a contest, a contest which my dear _husband_ won."

Jake was at a loss, confused and still frightened. "Madam, I am afraid I still don't understand…." He broke off as the woman sneered at him again.

"My sisters and I were basically trapped in the castle, every day of our lives, for as long as we could remember. One day, the youngest of us heard music coming up from the floor, under a carpet. When we moved it, we found a trapdoor. We followed the passage it led to, which opened out onto the bank of a lake, a lake we could never find without going through the trapdoor. There were men waiting for us." Meta fingered the branch again, watching the light play over the leaves. "Princes, knights, men of valor and intellect – or so they appeared. Across the river, they said, they had a grand hall with fine wine and musicians. We could not resist. The night passed in a blur, and in the morning we found ourselves back in our beds, exhausted, our shoes worn to ribbons."

Jake was enthralled, unconsciously leaning closer to the woman telling the tale. When she glanced back at him, he recalled his position and straightened, clearing his throat.

"Every night after that," she continued quietly, "We went back. Each morning was the same, our memories vague and our shoes with holes. After several weeks, the rumors among the maids reached our father's ears. We could not tell him what happened – the youngest was especially remorseful, but we couldn't bear the thought of not being able to go back. We were under a spell, compelled to go back each night. My father, King Francis, was advised to hold a contest, in which any man who found us out would be able to marry one of us. You can, I hope, figure out for yourself who accomplished this, and who was condemned o marry him."

Jake blinked for a second, his mouth working a little before he said, "Is this true?"

Meta glared at him. "I am proof in itself, Master Grimm. I have heard the stories of you and your brother. You will do this thing I ask," she commanded, "that you go and break the spell from around my sisters as well. My husband did not break the spell, but simply removed me from it. I still feel the pull, so I know my sisters continue under its influence. You _will_ go save them."

The groaning of the ladder startled them both, and Meta, after throwing Jake a significant look, replaced the pot and branch on the mantle and resumed her scrubbing.

The fiddler appeared at the bottom of the ladder and beamed at Jake, followed closely by Will. "Well, Master Grimm, everything is in order upstairs. Can I offer you some hot apple cider before you sleep? Some wine, perhaps? Meta! Bring-"

Hurriedly, Jake interjected, moving to stand beside his brother. "No, thank you, fiddler, but I am very tired." He offered an awkward, apologetic smile. "Long day, and all that."

Will threw him a confused look. "Alright Jake, you may be tired, but I would love some cider before -"

Jake gripped his arm, hard, breaking his brother off. "I'm sure you're just as tired as I am, Will, and need to sleep." He met Will's gaze with what he hoped was a significant look. _Stop being difficult, Will, and come upstairs. Now._

To Will's credit, after only a second or two, he decided to do as Jake wished. "Ah, it is true, I am exhausted. Thank goodness for you, brother, taking _such_ good care of me. Even if cider would have been much appreciated." He grinned at the fiddler and shrugged his shoulders. "Thank you again, friend, for all you have done. We wish you – and your exquisite wife – a good night." With that, he stiffly climbed the ladder again, Jake at his heels.

- o -

As soon as they were upstairs, Will threw himself on the single straw pallet and glared at Jake, not saying a word. The small round window behind him illuminated Will with a cold light, barely edged with the orange glow from the fire downstairs. Jake sat on the floor next to the pallet – there wasn't much room in the dusty, cramped loft to sit anywhere else – and removed his boots, listening carefully. After some moments he heard the fiddler and his wife go to their bedroom, closing the door. Waiting several moments more, he practically held his breath until he heard Will speak.

"They must be asleep now, Jake. Tell me what the hell this is about, and why it couldn't have waited for a hot cider."

Jake turned to meet his brother's angry gaze, unsure how to begin. "While you were up here, Will, the fiddler's wife … well, she …"

Will pushed himself upon an elbow. "Did she flirt with you? Well done, Jake! What did she do, beg you to take her away from her boorish husband? Or was she more forward than that, even?"

Jake looked at his brother in amazement. "She did nothing of the kind, you slow-minded … ugh, never mind. She asked me to do her a favor, and told me the most implausible story. The thing is," he confided, scooting up on the pallet beside his brother, "It might actually be true."

Will snorted. "What did she tell you? That she was a damsel in distress?"

"… Effectively, yes."

"So she did ask you to take her away from her boorish husband!" Will sat up, interested now.

Jake moved so that he was eye level with Will, about six inches away. "No, she told me that she used to be a princess, and that her sisters were still under a curse. She asked me – and you – to go and release them from the spell." Jake tried not to sound excited. He wasn't even sure if he really was or not, but Will would be even more adverse to the idea if he thought Jake was off in a fantasy world.

Will sighed, sounding long suffering and tired. "I thought we were through with this, Jake." He ran a hand through his hair, and moved to take off his boots as well. "Look, life is not a fairy tale. Life is life, and we just have to get through it the best way we can. We'll head back to town in the morning, travel back to Berlin, and take jobs as librarians or something." Boots taken care of, he shrugged off his jacket and started unbuttoning his vest, all the while not looking at Jake.

Jake was, during Will's little speech, seething. "How can you say that?" he hissed through clenched teeth.

Will finally discarded his vest and looked at him, moving to take his brother's hand. "Jake, did she say what country she was a princess _of?"_

Jake thought. "She said her father was King Francis …

"Of _Austria?"_

Jake practically growled. "Do you know of another?"

Will flopped back in his former position, sprawled out on the bed. "This is insane. She's insane, and lucky the poor man downstairs married her. And you, my brother," he looked up at Jake, still seated on the edge of the pallet, "Are insane if you believe her."

"How can you not give any credence at all to her story? Deny any possibility, after what we were just through? Trees moved! A queen, long dead, came back to life! You died and came back to life! I saw you, Will!" Jake stood up violently and paced over to the window, wrapping his arms around himself.

He heard the straw pallet rustle and the floorboards creak as Will came slowly up behind him. He closed his eyes as he felt a hand on his shoulder, and tried to control his slight trembling.

He was not prepared when Will wrapped his arms around Jake's waist and buried his face in his hair, holding him almost desperately. Breath catching and eyes wide, Jake tried to remain very, very still. He could feel Will's pulse through his back.

Will snuffled into his hair and squeezed his arms tighter. "You did bring me back, Jake." Will moved his head to bury his face in the crook of Jake's neck. "I just don't want to see you hurt again, chasing after something that isn't there." He sighed, his breath floating past Jake's ear. "You always chase after things that aren't there."

With Will pressed flush against him, holding him, the words were even harder to take; Jake silently struggled against tears as the import of the words took hold.


	4. In which Jake Does Not Deal Well

Author's Note: I am aware that Charlotte Grimm does not, historically, die until 1833, and obviously, this story is set directly after the movie, thus in 1812. I don't care. She died in the movie. Staying true to the movie is my first concern, followed by staying true to history. This is a fic based on the movie, after all, and at some points the movie and history diverge.

I repeat my disclaimer. Go eat a popsicle.

- o -

_The Perils of Dancing Princesses – or, A Most Humble Sequel_

_Chapter Four – In Which Jake Does Not Deal Well_

- o -

Jake slept.

He slept, and in sleep, he dreamt.

_He sees a young man in the center of a long room with high ceilings. Paintings of people, long since dead, line the walls. A large fireplace dominates the far end, while on the other, a row of tall, gothic windows shake with the force of the storm outside. Everything is quiet in the room, but as lightening flares into the shadows, Jake realizes that he is the man – not in form, but in representation. Someone is coming to capture him, to punish him; he has been found out, as was inevitable. He kneels on a silk carpet thrown over the stone floor, reaching for the flail. After all, why shouldn't he be the one to punish himself? It was his doing, his fault, and his right to castigate himself._

_A young girl bursts in through a door near the windows, looking panicked. She is dressed in a simple striped frock with a cap and an apron. In her hands she holds a small, open sack of pears. He walks over to her, trying to calm her sobbing. Begging him to leave, to run, she hands him the bag of pears. He takes a bite of one, looks at her, and says, "They're bitter." _

_She takes it from him, biting into it as well. Juice runs down her chin to stain her bodice; the stains expand, covering her whole person, and then extending out onto the floor. Just as the spreading stain starts to creep up his boots, he feels another person near him. Looking over to the shadowed center of the room, he sees Will lounging on one of the couches, dressed in white linen and silk._

_"Time to go, brother," he remarks, and offers a smile. _

_Terror grips Jake's chest, and he falls to the ground whimpering, suddenly surrounded by hundreds of dancing couples dressed in white. The stain creeping up from the floor redoubles in ferocity, burning its way up his arms and his chest._

_A hand falls on his shoulder, belonging to someone behind him. Instantly, the pain and stark terror disappear; the stain has vanished when he opens his eyes. He does not turn to the figure, knowing full well who it will be._

_"Let's go up the bean stock now, Jake. Charlotte will die unless we steal the goose who lays the golden eggs."_

_"Lotte's dead already…." Jacob mumbles, and a second hand begins caressing his hair. His body feels limp, and it is all he can do not to collapse. As it is, his head hangs from his shoulders, his hands lie limply in his lap, and his legs feel boneless, folded underneath him._

_"No, Jake. Lotte's still alive, and so are Mama, and Friedrich, and little Georg. Papa is coming home soon, Jake. You could make him so happy."_

_Jake falls forward, sobbing, and he can feel the rain outside sinking into his skin._

- o -

"… It's all right, Jake, hush; hush, now. I'm here, your brother Will is here. Shhh, Jake, come on..."

As Jake woke up, weeping, he felt the Will's warmth wrapped around him, and gasped in relief, seizing any part of his brother in reach. Will was in front of him on the straw-filled pallet, holding Jake tucked under his chin, arms wrapped tightly around his torso. He could feel his brother's heartbeat against his cheek, solid and alive. Jake thought he could hear the faint hitch to the beat that had always given Will trouble.

As soon as Jake was obviously awake, Will stopped his murmuring and lay in silence, still holding Jake close to him. After a few moments, when Jake quieted and began breathing normally, Will shifted so that he could see Jake's face. When Jake tried to bury his face in his brother's chest again, Will gently placed a finger under Jake's chin and made his brother look him in the eye.

"Tell me what it was about." It was a demand, Will's eyes fiercely concerned, his arms still tight around Jake.

Not wanting to talk about it, but knowing from experience that Will wouldn't let it go, Jake sighed exhaustedly. "Lotte."

Will nodded, and tucked Jake's head under his chin again. "You called her name a couple times. You were crying before that, though. What else?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"_Jake_."

Jake tried to squirm away from Will, but was prevented by two very strong arms. "I don't want to talk about it, Will. Just go back to sleep." He almost escaped this time, trying to twist away, but Will dragged him back. Jake rolled his eyes and gave up struggling, settling in for a long discussion.

He and Will just lay there for several minutes, letting a silence stretch between them. Finally, Will spoke, his voice gruff.

"You talk too much in your sleep."

His eyes popping open, Jake felt himself stop breathing; he waited for whatever Will was going to say, whatever evidence he would bring into the open, whatever condemnations he would utter. Preparing himself for the worst, he was confused when his brother's arms tightened around him.

"You called for me, and I … I didn't help you, did I?" Will sounded intensely shaken. "You even sounded like you were afraid of me." Dipping his head so that he could look Jake in the eye, he licked his lips before he asked, "Tell me what it was about."

Faced with such surprising honesty and obvious misery on Will's part, Jake had no idea how to answer. Finally, unable to think of anything else, he simply said, "Us."

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say, judging from Will's crumpled expression. "We've gotten that bad," he whispered, tucking Jake's head under his chin once more. "It's gotten that bad, that you're afraid of me?"

Stomach twisting at the lost, forlorn quality of Will's voice, Jake quickly amended his statement, wrapping his arms tighter around his brother. "No, I didn't mean that. I only – I mean to say – it seems as if…." He trailed off, unable to continue. _How can you say, I love you, want you, want you to want me, and I'm scared to death you'll abandon me once you find out_?

"Tell me." Jake could not see his face, but Will sounded serious. He reflected, for a moment, on how Will was really only like this with him, and then remembered that the request had demanded an answer.

"I can't." Jake hid his face even more, begging silently for a reprieve, an acquittal, amnesty, anything. "I don't know how to say it."

"Tell me." Will's tone was no less temperate, and no less demanding.

Jake looked at him, jittery and defensive. "It's honestly not worth talking about. I don't know why I had a nightmare."

"Tell me."

This was fast becoming redundant.

"I need to know why you are afraid of me. And you are," he said, as Jake began to protest, "Because you wouldn't have dreamt about it if it were otherwise." He raised his eyebrows at Jake, punctuating his point.

Realizing that Will was not going to drop this any time soon, Jake tried to find an answer. All of them fell flat, and he mentally kicked himself. Will was right; he never had been able to lie to his brother. He simply kept on staring into his brother's eyes, worrying his bottom lip. Half wanting to just get it over with, and half scared out of his skin, he could think of nothing to say.

Except, that is, for the truth, and Jake had little other option.

With a deep sigh, Jake began, hoping that his brother was indeed thick enough not to fully understand. "What I meant was … we have grown so apart, recently, in certain ways … Even with the incident in the forest, I think somehow …"

He huffed again. Phrases like 'in certain ways' and 'I think' were not going to get the point across, and he would only get bogged down in semantics.

"We don't understand each other, anymore. Not like we used to." Jake looked up at Will, gauging his reaction as he went on. "We know each other still, this is true. We can tell what the other will do, where they will go, things that, because we've known each other for almost thirty years. But," he said, looking at the window, "I can no longer tell what you might be thinking. I can't be sure, anymore, how you will respond."

Will nodded, face suddenly showing all twenty-seven years. Most of the time, his child-like energy made him look much more youthful. At the moment, Will was once again _Jake's Will_, and he knew he was the only person left in the world to see it. He was, he thought, the only person to love it, and it was something to hold on to.

"You're right," Will barely whispered. "How do we get back to that point?"

Jake closed his eyes, too exhausted, it seemed, to even cry. His eyes were hot and scratchy. "We can't. We just have to make something new." He settled himself to try to sleep, doubtful as to his success.

Clutching Jake tighter in his embrace, Will seem to surround him, physically and mentally. Jake could smell the Will's scent on his shirt, a wonderful male scent, mixed with dirt and woods and wood ash. He smelled leather, a scent that clung to Will even when none was present. He could even smell the hay, from the barn roof not many hours ago; however, what he noticed the most was the absence of perfume, or any other fragrance a woman might wear. Will had not been with a woman for many nights.

When he tilted his head upward to meet Will's gaze, he saw in his brother's eyes the thing that Will wanted more than anything else, after all – unconditional love. His eyes held pure, unadulterated affection.

With their faces so close together, Jake did not even feel Will move before his lips encountered Will's. A warm press of lips, an even warmer hand running down his back … it seemed as if his brain couldn't keep up with his body, as if he was experiencing what was happening a split second after. Then just as suddenly, Will was releasing his hold on Jake, bidding him a good night, and making himself more comfortable. He lay down on his back, threw a blanket at Jake, and was soon fast asleep.

Jake was very, very awake. He stayed that way, extremely uncomfortable and further confused, until dawn.

As for Will, when he awoke to find his brother sprawled out on the edge of the pallet, blanket bunched around his shoulders and leaving his feet bare, he could only hope that the jolt he felt was purely brotherly affection.

- o -

Jake awoke, after only a handful of hours asleep, to violent sunshine pouring through the single window above his head. Will was absent, as were his boots, coat, and other belongings. Trying to avoid panic, Jake shook away the semi-conscious fear that gripped him by the throat, and peeked his head over the ladder.

He smelled burning porridge, but neither saw nor heard Will; there was only Meta by the hearth, as he had last seen her, stirring porridge in an iron pot. He quietly put on his boots and the rest of his clothes, and tried (in earnest, now) not to panic.

He did not know quite how to ask where his brother had gone. At this point, he was certain he would come off as needy and ineffectual. Before he could attempt, however, Meta turned around and looked at him with a smile.

"I'm glad you persuaded Will to go with you, Jake. I don't know how you did it, but he seemed happy enough to participate. Oh, you must be wondering where he is – he went back to town to gather your things and make your good-byes. He should be back shortly." Meta positively beamed at him, and Jake just stared back.

_He_ felt positively incoherent.

What with all the business with the witch, then with getting lost in the woods, and then the business with this _woman,_ and the following discussion last night, and the unprecedented show of affection – suddenly, it all crashed in on top of his head. He was left standing there, not a thought in his head other than what he would do for a nice, stiff drink.

He spied a rough chair, and thought that chairs had been invented for just these moments. Women have their fainting couches; men have to do with chairs.

As Meta sat a mug full of something hot – cider, he thought, from the smell – in front of him, she went in for the kill. "Or, _do_ I know how you convinced him?"

Jake could barely hold back an insane giggle. Lord, he hadn't giggled since he was a child. This woman was most certainly a princess, with her knack for manipulation and interrogation. He set his face in his hands, elbows on the table (something his mother would have rapped his knuckles for) and smiled a bit wildly. An odd, gasping sort of laugh escaped him. "My dear lady, you have not a clue what you are talking about."

She slowly made her way over to the hearth again, her back to him, just like he had first seen her. "Just remember this, darling boy. You are free to do whatever you wish. You may not think so, but you are. Do not keep yourself in chains to which you, yourself, have the keys."

It was all too much for a sensitive, slightly neurotic academic to take.

"Jake!" A voice boomed from outside, and Jake heard the whinny of horses, and the off key whistling of his brother, indulging in an energetic rendition of the French national anthem. Several moments later, "We have to leave soon, or we won't reach a town before nightfall!"

Meta looked at Jake pointedly, and he, after gazing at the door for a moment, stood with obvious effort and walked toward it.

"I have something for you," Meta remarked, stopping Jake several feet from the door. "Hold on." She ducked into the other room and came out with a bundle of old, slightly moldering fabric. She handed it to him with care. "This is my husband's, given to him by a crone on the road to my father. Take it; it will keep you concealed."

Eying the fabric dubiously, he nevertheless accepted it. "Thank you. We will be in touch soon, I should think." He was starting to get hold of himself again, and rather relieved for it. He had a purpose now, a goal to take his mind off of everything else going to hell around him. He smiled his thanks again, and stepped out the door to see Will, on his horse and holding Jake's, outfitted for a long journey. All of Jake's things, it appeared, were neatly stowed in his saddlebags.

Will spread his arms wide, favoring Jake with a huge grin. "Feel like going to Austria?" He shouted, as he saw Jake emerge from the cottage. "Because, I dare say we've needed just this sort of a vacation."

Jake could only stand in the pathway and laugh at Will's eagerness, as Will smiled on as well, a bit smug with his success.

"I thought…" Jake gasped, "I thought you didn't want to go."

Will smiled at him with bright, laughing eyes, and Jake really had no choice but to mount his horse and follow the fiddler back down the road. Meta watched from the doorway, her eyes keen, catching every touch, every glance, as they rode away. When she could see them no longer because of trees, she re-entered her cottage and sat quietly, a broken pottery crock in her hands.


End file.
